


George Weasley / Hufflepuff Reader (Hidden Music)

by musicalcrimescene



Series: George/Fred Weasley Short Stories [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, George finds your secret practice room, Getting Together, Kissing, Piano, Quidditch, Strangers to Lovers, Sweet Kisses, at the burrow for the holidays, friends with cedric, friends with the twins, music at hogwarts, you play the piano
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalcrimescene/pseuds/musicalcrimescene
Summary: When you stayed behind that morning in hopes that you could get some practice in, you never expected to be interrupted. Not only that, but you didn’t expect to be interrupted by one of the Weasley twins, a pranking and joking genius, and a beater of the Gryffindor team.
Relationships: George Weasley/Reader
Series: George/Fred Weasley Short Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012857
Comments: 15
Kudos: 141





	George Weasley / Hufflepuff Reader (Hidden Music)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [All the George Weasley girls out there](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=All+the+George+Weasley+girls+out+there).



> ~unedited~ is my aesthetic. 
> 
> this one is looong, I started writing thinking it would be 10,000 words or shorter but nope, it just took over and decided to stretch itself out. I've been writing this instead of my finals paper and I am stressed but happy that I finally got this done. college is brutal but I've heard it's worth it, so let's see if I pass my classes this semester!!
> 
> I also adore playing the piano, and so I wanted to live vicariously through this mega-talented reader bc why not. Hope the music description aren't too boring lol
> 
> Enjoy!

“Oh, come on Wood! You don’t have any other regular beaters and I’m good to play! Madam Pomfrey said.” George’s voice can be heard by the entire great hall as those who are willing to wake up before 8 a.m. eat their breakfast. Just because they decided to get up early, though, doesn’t mean they appreciate the yelling coming from the Gryffindor table.

George either didn’t notice the glares aimed at him or he didn’t care. He continued his plea to quidditch captain Oliver Wood, begging him to let him play. Oliver, to his credit, simply rolled his eyes and continued eating his breakfast. There was no way in hell George Weasley would be playing in today’s match, not after practice earlier this week.

Quidditch is a violent game, everyone knows that going into the sport. It just never occurred to George that it would be so violent that he’d be injured beyond magical repair. He had taken a nasty hit and even nastier fall during practice just a few days ago, snapping his arm in half and then badly spraining his wrist. He had gone to Madam Pomfrey, expecting to be better by the match that Saturday. And yet here he was Saturday morning, arm still in a sling.

Oliver finally got tired of the barrage of complaints and slammed him spoon down on the table. “Weasley, we both know Madam Pomfrey didn’t clear you. She would have told McGonagall who would’ve told me, and that hasn’t happened yet. So you might as well quit your whining now and accept it, lad.” He sighed and started gathering his gear. “I hate this as much as you do, but look at you. You’re clearly in no shape to play. Just focus on healing enough for the next match, yeah?”

Without waiting for a response, Oliver stood and started heading out of the great hall, other players trailing behind him. Before Fred left, he gave George a firm pat on the shoulder in sympathy.

“It’ll be alright, Georgie. It’s just the one match and it’s not even against Slytherin.” He gave a little smirk. “Maybe you could use this time off to do a little exploring with the map. Have fun.” And with that his brother left him as well.

George knew he was pouting, but didn’t want to admit it. Instead, he poked at his breakfast a little while longer before giving up and heading back to the common room. After changing out of his quidditch robes and into normal pants and a jumper, he slumped on a couch in front of the fireplace. The common room was deserted, every else having gone to the match. He sighed. There’s no point in sitting here miserable, is there?

He had tucked the Marauder's Map into his pocket when he changed, so now he pulls it out and points his wand, saying the words, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” As ink started to cover the map, George quietly examined it. There weren’t many places he and Fred hadn’t already explored. Hardly anyone was in the castle at this point, so it would be a great time to explore the more difficult to reach areas.

Looking around, George noticed something that seemed odd. Up in an abandoned part of one of Hogwarts towers, completely alone and away from everyone else, was a single name. 

“Huh,” George muttered. “Who’s Yardley?” Deciding this was interesting enough to look into, he left the common room and started up towards the tower. It took him a moment to figure out how to get there, as it wasn’t anywhere he had ever explored in depth. Finally, though, he reached the hall that held the abandoned classroom this Yardley was in. 

Closing the map, he quietly walked down the hallway, listening for any noise. For a moment, there was nothing. It was just a whisper, but finally George heard something. He followed the sound, and soon realized it wasn’t a voice or some creature; it was music. The soft sound of a piano drifted through the hall and pulled George further down the hall. He came upon the door the music was coming from and, being as quiet as he could be, pressed his ear up against the wood. 

At first there was a soft repetition of notes, but soon what he assumed was the melody joined in. It was soft and beautiful and reminded George of something he couldn’t quite place. It made him feel nostalgic, almost, though he was positive he had never heard this song before.

The song didn’t last long, and George was disappointed until the person, Yardley, started playing again. Again, the music this time was soft and almost sad, but still beautiful. It seemed intricate, but then again he’d never touched a piano before in his life so it all seemed complicated to him. He pressed in closer and the notes rose and then fell, pausing for a moment before changing ever so slightly. 

He isn’t sure how long he stood there listening to the piano, but soon he found himself falling into a calm state. Relaxing a bit more, he leaned his body weight against the door. Unfortunately for him, this was an old door and supported his weight for no more than a few seconds before groaning in protest and falling open, George following right along with it.

**********

When you stayed behind that morning in hopes that you could get some practice in, you never expected to be interrupted. Not only that, but you didn’t expect to be interrupted by one of the Weasley twins, a pranking and joking genius, a beater of the Gryffindor team.

You had just finished playing another song (at this point you’ve lost count of how many songs you’ve played. At least ten) and had barely lifted your foot from the pedal before the door came crashing open, and 6 foot something ginger coming with it.

There was a yelp, and for a moment you thought that horrendous sound came from you. But no, it came from the Weasley sprawled all over the stone floor. He groaned as he managed to sit himself up, rolling his shoulder and rubbing at his arm. 

It took him a few seconds before remembering he wasn’t the only one in the room, you suppose. Freezing, he looked up, locking eyes with you, sitting on the piano bench at the front of the room. Both of your hands are still placed above the keys of the piano, and you’re only slightly aware that a look of fear is still painted on your face.

He’s been staring at you for much too long now. Realizing this, he quickly stands up, wincing as he jostles his arm in the sling and raises an arm in a still wave.

“Um… hello there. I heard you play the, uh, the piano. It was brilliant.” It was an awkward attempt on his part, but an attempt nonetheless. Still, you can’t find words. How are you supposed to react in a situation like this? You just continued staring at Weasley.

Lowering his hand down to the back of his neck, he gives an awkward grin. “You’re talented,” he said. “I was wondering, what were the songs you just played?”

Your eyebrows furrow and you open your mouth as if to respond, but nothing comes out. Weasley waits patiently until you finally manage to find your voice.

“It was, um… It was Paul Reeves. The Smile of a Child. And the second one, that was Gavin Luke. It’s called Night Walk…” You trail off at the end of the sentence. How long had he been listening? This causes the realization that he was listening at all, and you slam your mouth shut as your cheeks heat up. The idea of him listening in is embarrassing; there was a reason you came to the abandoned part of the castle, after all.

You stand suddenly which causes Weasley to jump a bit. Quickly gathering your things and shoving them in the bag beside you, you prepare to leave and forget this ever happened. 

“Wait,” he shouts, much too loud for such a small room. You flinch at the volume and turn to him, raising an eyebrow at him, waiting.

“You don’t have to leave. Don’t stop just because I’m here.” You lower your brow and pull them both down instead.

“What, do you want to stay?” You ask bewildered, not expecting him to say yes. When he nods his head with a charming smile, it only confuses you further.

“Um…” That’s all you manage to get out, too busy trying to pull your mind together to move to speak.

Not waiting for your response, he steps forward and perches himself on one of the desks in the room. When you first found this room, it was just another abandoned classroom with dust-covered desks and chairs lining the walls. You had pushed some of the desks together, enough for you to transfigure them into a piano.

At first, it had been small and completely out of tune. After you started paying more attention in McGonagall’s class and the more you practiced, however, the better it got. In only a few weeks, you had managed to transigure a full grand, though still poorly tuned. It was so large you had to push the other desks to the sides of the room and then spent a full day tuning the piano. You had poured more work into it than any essay you’ve ever written.

At first, you had done it because you were homesick and missed piano lessons with your mother. It was a small reprieve from the ever-chaotic life you lived at Hogwarts. Eventually, though, it became a destresser, and then it became pure passion. The more you improved, the more you found yourself loving the piano and the alone time you had, no fear of anyone hearing.

But now one of the Weasley twins - which one, you’re not sure - is perched on top of one of the old desks, waiting to hear you play. You don’t know if it’s the encouraging smile or the soft, kind look in his eyes, or maybe even the eagerness in his posture, but something makes you sit back down on the bench. You place your bag on the floor beside you and turn to the piano. You sit there silently for a moment, contemplating what in the hell you’re doing, before looking back at Weasley.

“Um… So you want to listen to me play?” He nods vigorously.

“Well, yeah, I thought that much was obvious. You’re brilliant at the thing and I’m still sitting here after making a complete idiot out of myself, so yeah, I think I want to hear you play.” You flush at his sarcastic tone and turn back to the piano, ducking your head a bit so your hair covers a bit of your face. You didn’t expect to ever be this nervous in your comfort place at Hogwarts, but that seems to be the effect Weasley has on you.

“Well, then, what do you want to hear?’ There’s no response for a few seconds, sand so you look over at him. His face is all scrunched up in sarcastic confusion.

“Well, the piano, preferably, but if you happen to have a marimba around-” You cut him off.

“I mean what song, Weasley. Or composer, or even just genre. What kind of music do you want to hear.” He contemplates this for a moment.

“Something happy, or exciting. That would be nice.” You nod and turn back, focusing on the keys. After flipping through your mental repertoire, you decide on a piece you think he’ll enjoy. You place your hands above the keys and freeze. What in Merlin’s name am I doing? You’ve known this bloke for not even 10 minutes and he already has you ready to play for him like it’s no big deal.

You frown. You suppose it isn’t a big deal. You’ve played in front of your family hundreds of times, and then in front of crowds during every recital. You had no problem at all playing in front of others until you came to Hogwarts. It was only then, when you were forced to take month-long breaks, that you became aware of every mistake you made and note you missed. That’s why you set up your transfigured piano somewhere students and professors never go, so no one could hear you if you messed up.

Of course, you’ve been practicing long enough at school now to no longer make the awkward mistakes you made before. You figure it’s about time you get into the habit of playing in front of others again.

Taking in a deep breath, you allow your fingers to touch the keys and begin playing. You start slow at first, hesitant now with someone watching you, but soon you fall into your familiar rhythm and play with ease. The song isn’t a long one, but it’s one you haven’t played in a while and so you enjoy the newfound familiarity of it. 

By the end, you’re smiling and when you lift your foot off the pedal and look at Weasley, so is he. He’s leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees and his feet rest on the floor. He must have some long legs to reach the floor at that height.

“Brilliant,” he exclaims, leaning up and clapping. You blush and shake your head a bit, but he gives you a stubborn look and continues until you smile a bit. 

“Thank you,” you say, bringing one foot up to rest on the bench with you as you wrap your arms around your knee.

“No, thank you,” he says. “You’re incredible! I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as good at piano as you.” You blush again and shake your head, smiling lightly.

“It’s true,” he insists, slapping his non-injured hand down on his knee. His face is full of innocent excitement which you find incredibly contagious. Every time you see his smile, you can’t help but smile as well. Funny.

“Will you play another?” He asks. His eyes are wide and hopeful and you can’t bring yourself to say no. You nod.

“What would you like to hear this time?” He smiles, thinking, before bouncing up a bit.

“Something wicked and evil and intense, you know? Like it would be the background music for some antagonist.” You tilt your head and smile, looking incredulously at this boy. You don’t know him very well, or at all, teally, but his descriptions of songs seem to fit him well.

You know exactly what piece you’ll play for him. It starts off slow and simple, building tension that rises slowly in the chord progression. It builds and builds until you stop, letting the last chord ring out for just a few seconds. Biting your lip, you take a quick glance at Weasley, who seems entranced and excited for something he knows nothing about, but is sure will come. 

Giving him a quick smirk, you look back at the keys in front of you before bringing your hands back down against the keys, the volume loud enough to startle the twin sitting at the desk. You adore this song and how it goes from quietly tense and foreboding to silence before coming right back in full force, complicated scales on the left hand and an intense melody on the right. Eventually it quiets back down, bringing the beginning back in at the end, slowly dying down to the tense counter melody before ending in a bittersweet chord. 

You wait, letting the sound ring out for a few seconds longer before lifting your foot off the pedal and straightening up, looking over at Weasley for his reaction. He has a wide smile on his face that he doesn’t even seem aware of, eyes bright and shining. He jumps up to his feet this time and claps, giving a whistle as well.

“Bloody hell, woman, what are you? That was absolutely brilliant. Do you think you could teach me how to do that one? Seemed hard, but I’ve got long fingers.” At that he lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers at you, eyebrows moving up and down suggestively. You laugh at his antics while taking a closer look at his fingers.

“You really do have perfect hands…” You mumble this to yourself, not meaning to speak out loud, but he hears anyway and gives you a big smirk.

“Perfect hands, eh? You interested?” This comes with an exaggerated wink, and you roll your eyes.

“I meant for the piano, Weasley. Your fingers are long, which gives you an advantage if you ever decide to learn.” He looks down at his fingers now, examining them with his chest puffed in pride.

“Nice,” he says to himself. You lightly laugh at this. He’s amusing, you’ll give him that. His reputation precedes him, but it sure is accurate.

The two of you stay in the room for a long while, him requesting types of songs and you selecting ones that fit his criteria. He asks for something American, and you give him swing. He asks for something ‘ancient,’ you give him Bach. He asks for something impressive, and you have to beg him to quiet down his applause after you play him some Liszt. 

After a while, when he’s describing the song you just played for him - “it was like your fingers broke the bloody sound barrier, bloody hell, and how far they went” - you take a moment to just look at him. You don’t know this boy. You’ve never spoken to him before, and until now all you had to base him off was his reputation as hilarious prankster extraordinaire. You’re sure that part fits him well based on his goofy personality you’ve seen so far. But you’ve also seen an excited, intrigued, and appreciative side of him. 

You’re sure if it was anyone else, you would have ended up leaving when they barged through that door. But somehow, some way, he made you stay. Not only that, but he made you want to stay. In less than ten minutes he had you playing for him as though the two of you did this everyday. He made you feel comfortable and secure, not just in his presence but while showing a part of yourself that none of your friends at Hogwarts have seen. 

Looking at this boy, the one who talks with his hands and curses just a bit too much and is so excited he’s tripping over his own words, you wonder how you’ve never really noticed him before. It seems impossible not to, now. 

Your thoughts and his rambling are interrupted by your stomach growling loud enough to alert the whole floor. You blush a little and give a shy smile. You’ve been here since early morning and you’re not quite sure what time it is now.

Weasley lifts his wrist to look at his watch and his eyes shoot up. “Damn. It’s already lunch time, you must be starving.” He jumps up off the desk he’s on and walks over towards you and the piano. You tense up, which already feels wrong to do around him. You suppose it’s because yes, you’ve now spent a couple hours with him, but during that time you’ve never been within two meters on each other. 

He walks behind you and picks up your bag off the floor before looking down at you. Slinging it over his shoulder, he smiles. “Well, off to lunch then?”

You look at him curiously for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.” You stand and lead the way out the room and into the hall, holding the door for him. He gives a mock bow as he exits, and you laugh a bit. The two of you walk for a bit before you remember his arm is in a sling and he’s carrying your bag.

“Wait!” you say. “You’re the injured one, I can carry my bag. You don’t have to do that.” You reach for your bag, but he pulls it away from you.

“True, but you’re the lady who just spent hours playing songs for me. Let me be the proud knight and at least carry your bag.” You frown but concede, rolling your eyes at his victory grin. You walk in comfortable silence to the great hall, side by side, until you remember something else.

“Er… Weasley, this might seem a bit rude now, but I really should know… Which twin are you?” His eyes widen as he stops walking and looks down at you. You stop a step ahead of him and panic, preparing for the worst. Of course I’ve insulted him, he and his brother are two different people! It must be awfully annoying to be mixed up all the time. 

Instead of being offended like you expected, Weasley bursts out laughing. He ends up doubled over, hand on his knee as he laughs louder than you’ve heard so far. In a panic, you look down the hall, sure someone will hear his raucous laughter and wonder what happened. 

“I’m sorry!” You say. “I just, I never asked and I’ve never really spoken with you or your brother before and I just didn’t know, I’m really sorry-”

“No, no!” He cuts you off, standing up straight again and trying to calm his laughter. “Don’t be sorry at all. I never told you. Besides, I don’t know your name either.” You look at him and give an unsure smile, still worried you’ve offended him. He gives you another smirk of his, though it’s kind and amused.

“Which twin do you think I am?” Your face drops as you panic again. You try and think through everything your friends had mentioned about the twins, how they were both loud, but Fred was louder. How everyone liked them, but George was more considerate.

You take a moment to think, ignoring his stare on your face, until you feel fairly confident in your answer. Determined, you look up at his expecting face.

“George,” you say. “You’re George.” His eyebrows shoot up at that.

“How did you guess that?” You smile at his impressed expression, feeling pleased with yourself. You got it right.

“I didn’t guess. I figured it out.” You spin around and begin walking again, hearing his footsteps following you a few seconds later.

“But how did you figure it out?” You simply shrug as he catches up to you, falling into step next to you.

“Fine then, keep your secrets, Yardley” he says with a laugh. Now it’s your turn to be surprised.

“How do you know my name? Or, one of them, at least.” He smirks down at you and shakes his head.

“A wizard never reveals his secrets.” You narrow your eyes at him, but eventually shrug it off. You didn’t tell him how you knew, after all.

Soon, you reach the entrance to the great hall. When you enter, you see that the quidditch players and spectators have finished their match, rowdy as always. Gryffindor is rowdier than usual, which is saying something, and so you assume they’ve won, especially considering the bitter expressions on the Ravenclaws. You smile at the red and gold celebration and look back to George.

“Looks like your team did well. You should go congratulate them.” He looks down at you with a smile, nodding. 

“Yeah, I should. Here,” he hands your bag out to you and you take it back. As you do so, your hand wraps partially around his as you grip the strap and it feels warmer than you thought a hand can be. Realizing you had paused, you move your hand away and take your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. Looking up, you see his gaze is intense on you as though he’s searching for something in your face. Ignoring the look, you smile up at him and begin to turn away, waving.

“Well, George, maybe I’ll see you around.” You don’t see his wave back, but you do hear his quiet “yeah” said back to you. Smiling despite yourself, you head over to the Hufflepuff table, quickly finding your friends. Sitting down amongst them, they begin interrogating you, asking why you were gone for longer than usual and then showed up with George Weasley of all people. 

Ignoring their questions for a moment, you look back over to where George is still standing at the double doors, gaze unfocused on the air around him. Watching, you see him mouth to himself what looks like ‘Hufflepuff’ before he snaps out of it and starts walking to his own table. You smile just a bit wider before turning back to your friends and answering their questions.

**********

You’re almost disappointed when George doesn’t show up again the next Saturday. You shouldn’t be surprised, though; the few times you’ve seen him around in the past week, he was either too distracted to notice you or he simply gave you a smile and head nod. You may be in the same year as the twins, but being in different houses puts you at a disadvantage with how much you’re able to see him.

Sighing, you focus back on the piano. It’s early afternoon. Hufflepuff was playing in today’s quidditch match, so you decided to enjoy the empty common room while you could, only heading out for your secret practice room when your housemates started to trickle back in. 

You ate a brief lunch on your own; your friends weren’t back from the stands yet, and you were too hungry to wait. While eating, you saw a group of Gryffindors over at their table, eating and shouting as usual. Looking over, you spot the twins among that crowd. Smiling to yourself, you continue to watch them shoving elbows and cracking jokes with their friends. You can’t quite tell which is which from this distance, but they both look awfully handsome, you have to admit. The more you’ve thought about them this week, the more you realize how attractive they are. Everything from their mannerisms to their voices seems to pull you in.

You’re not sure how long you watch them, but long enough you suppose that one of them notices the attention. You freeze, looking straight back at him. After a moment, you’re sure it’s Fred. There’s no recognition or smile on his face for you, just a look of curiosity. He turns to his brother to get his attention, and before you’re caught staring again you look back down at your plate, flushing.

Deciding you were quite done with lunch, you stand and grab your bag with sheet music and a jumper in it. It got quite drafty in the tower, and too often you’ve found yourself wishing for extra layers. Rushing away from your table towards the double doors, you refuse to look back at the Gryffindor table. From that direction you think you can feel eyes on you, but as you leave you chalk it up to embarrassment and paranoia. A small part of you, however, likes to think it was George, watching you leave and wanting to follow.

You shake your head. As if George Weasley would want to follow you in hopes of seeing you again. You’ve spoken only once, and have barely interacted since. It was a one time thing, a fluke, and you should have enjoyed it while it lasted.

Now, about an hour later, you’re still seated at the piano, frustrated on your inability to focus. You tried learning a new song, one you’ve been meaning to look at for a while, but you kept wondering if it was something George would like. Would he enjoy listening to it? I wonder how he would describe it in that funny way of his…

Eventually your persistent thoughts became too distracting, and you decided to just warm up with previously memorized pieces. Usually you can do this for hours, enjoying the music you’re able to make with practiced ease. It’s calming for you, playing songs over and over until you have them memorized and feel like you truly understand them. Sometimes you only play one song for an hour straight, messing with the dynamics and syncopation, trying to find the best fit for the feel of the song. It seems tedious, but it’s truly enjoyable for you and a way to stop stressing about the academic parts of your life.

Now, though, you find yourself forgetting chords and making simple mistakes, leading to further hesitation and even more mistakes. Frustrated, as you once more skipped an entire chord, causing a dissonance that even your ears could find no pleasure in, you slam down the chord one more time before huffing and pulling away. 

You stand, running a hand through your hair while pacing in front of the piano. You haven’t played this poorly since you transfigured the damn piano, finally ending your year long break from it. Stopping, you cross your arms, eyebrows furrowed. You can feel the nasty frown on your face, but find no motivation to fix it. Bloody George Weasley…

As soon as that thought crosses your mind, the door bursts open, slamming against the stone wall as a heavily breathing George enters the room. You jump, letting out a scared yelp you’d never admit came from your mouth. You stare wide-eyed at George as he leans over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Eventually he manages to even out his breathing somewhat and straightens himself, running a hand through his hair before looking at you.

“What…” You can’t manage to finish your sentence. Actually, you don’t even know what you want to say here. He smiles at your shock and swaggers over near where you’re standing, mouth still open wide.

“I thought I would’ve missed you. Saw you leave the great hall and hoped you’d be going to practice some more. Fred wouldn’t let me go, though, kept pulling me back into the conversation. Eventually I just had to sneak away.” He finishes with a wide smile and hops up onto the desk he sat on last week. Looking you up and down, his smile suddenly turns into a worried frown.

“You didn’t just finish, do you? Damn, I knew I took too long,” he mutters. For some reason you feel the intense need to ease his worry. It’s only been gone a few seconds, but you already miss his smile.

“No, no I wasn’t finished. I just needed a break. I haven’t been doing too well today, you see.” Your frustration surfaces again and you look back at the piano in frustration.

When he speaks, you hear the worry in his voice. “Is everything ok?”

You look at him, surprised. He was asking if you’re ok… how sweet of him. You blush at the thought that he might care.

“Oh, yes, don’t worry,” you say, waving him off. “Just… distracted is all.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and starts smirking again.

“Distracted? And what seems to be so ardently on your mind, Miss Yardley?” You flush at his insinuating tone.

“Nothing,” you get out. “Nothing at all. Anyway…” You walk back to the piano and take a seat on the bench, ignoring his laughter. Still, it’s somehow infectious and you can’t help but smile too as you roll your eyes.

“So,” you say, interrupting his mirth. “What do you want to hear today?” He thinks for a moment before smiling down at you. This time, though, his smile has a troublesome edge to it and you’re already prepared to sigh at his request.

“Play your least favorite song that you know.” Frowning, you squint into his eyes, trying to see if he’s joking. Apparently he’s not.

“Fine then,” you say. You don’t even have to think about which piece that might be. There’s one you’ve hated since your mother forced you to learn it, claiming it would help with technique. Sighing, you place your fingers above the keys and start playing.

The monotonous pattern of the song begins slowly as you recall the notes, but soon the tempo picks up as your muscles instinctively move from one key to the next. You don’t have the biggest hands. They’re quite small, actually, which is what makes this piece so hard. Your mother always argued, though, that if you can manage Lizst, surely you can handle Bach.

By the time you're done, you don’t bother letting the last note ring out. It’s a beautiful piece, sure, but you’re tired of the repetition already. Looking over at George, you give a small smile to his clapping.

“That was your least favorite?” He seems confused as he asks. “I thought it was nice. Kinda the same thing over and over, though… what was it?”

“Bach’s Prelude in C Major.” At his impressed expressed, you cut in again. “Don’t worry, it sounds fancier than it is. It’s just a bunch of major and minor keys that exhibit the possibilities of equal temperament. Once Bach composed this piece, all the others went crazy over it. It’s influential, but boring as hell.” George gives a short laugh, eyes still wide at the musical jargon.

“Well… I don’t know what that means, music lady, but you failed to make it seem any less impressive.” You blush a bit, pleased with the compliment. 

“Yes, well,” you stutter, eager to get his flattering attention off of you. “Next piece, then?” He doesn’t laugh, but he gives you a soft, amused look, as though you were a silly cat curling in on itself.

“Ok, well now play me your favorite piece.” You think for a moment, tilting your head. Your favorite piece… you’re not sure if you have one.

“Well, favorite piece meaning the one I love listening to the most, the one I love playing the most, my favorite technical or stylistic piece, or perhaps-” He cuts you off with a quick laugh and a playfully judgemental look.

“I mean, when you think of playing the piano, what’s the piece you look forward to playing the most?” You focus your thoughtful gaze on him, giving an almost absent smile. Looking at him, his intrigued look and genuinely interested demeanor, you know exactly what piece you’ll play.

This was one of the first pieces you learned, and to this day remained one of your favorites. The flow felt natural and easy in your hands, quickly building up to an intensity that would suddenly fall back to mezzo piano, this time slowly building up to a fortissimo. 

When you finish, you take your time to end the song, letting the last notes ring for as long as they wanted. By the time your foot leaves the pedal you’re wearing the biggest smile you think you’ve had all week. Almost immediately you hear George's applaud, and by now it’s a familiar sound that you expect when you finish paying. This struck you as strange; this is only the second day you’ve played for him now, but already he seems to have wormed his way into your routine.

Looking over at him, a wide smile still on your face, you take in his reaction. During his applause, he even throws in a single whistle. You throw your head back, laughing, feeling freer than you have in a long while. It isn’t until you’ve stopped laughing that you notice the applause had stopped suddenly. Looking at George, you see him staring at you slightly red in the face and looking like he had just realized something astounding.

Still, you’re unable to lessen your grin. Tilting your head, you question his look. 

“What? You look as though you’ve seen something joyous and beyond reasoning.” You laugh a little at yourself and your whimsical description, but you’re in quite the pleasant mood and allow yourself the unusual wording. His response is a growing grin and a slow shake of his head.

“You know,” he says, “perhaps I have.” The two of you look at one another for a moment, and you can feel your heart beating faster than you’d like. As soona s your cheeks start to heat up at the quiet moment, you clear your throat and lower your eyes.

“Well, that one was called Fly by Ludovico Einaudi. He’s my favorite composer, I think. A good introduction to classical, but still relatively modern.” You wince at your awkward rambling. You had tried to save yourself from the embarrassment of just staring at George, but seems you’re only capable of making it worse.

“You do him justice,” you hear George say. Giving him a pleased smile, you turn back to the piano, raising a single eyebrow at him.

“Well?” You ask, ready for his next request. He gives you a smile and shake of his head before describing the next kind of piece he’d like to hear. And, for the next hour, this is how the two of you spend your time. You don’t seem to notice that your mistake-riddled slump has come to a sudden end.

**********

When you had left that second Saturday, you were once more unsure of the situation. It’s happened twice now that he’s come and listened to you play, but three makes a pattern and neither of you had mentioned when or if this would happen again.

You were pleasantly surprised, however, as you were walking down the hallway on your way back to your respective common rooms and he turned and gave you a wink, saying he’d see you next week before turning down his hallway. You stared after him for a moment, trying to process the brief interaction, before smiling and nearly skipping the rest of the way to your common room. 

When you got there, your friends noticed your unusually good mood and questioned you, asking if you’ve been snogged senseless. You blush, but deny it, saying it was just a really nice day and you had a lovely time with your piano. They seem suspicious, but let it go, moving on to recap the quidditch game.

It was now Wednesday and you’re arm in arm with Cedric Diggory on your way to the library to help him with his transfiguration essay. Transfiguration is how you became unlikely friends. Yes, you’re in the same year and house, but when he became a beautiful star quidditch player he seemed too intimidating to approach. That was soon proven silly, of course, when he came up to you in transfiguration the year before asking for your help. Due to your rigorous study in hopes of successfully transfiguring a piano, you had reached top of the class. Apparently he was at the opposite end of success, and desperately needed help. After agreeing to tutor him, and once you stopped acting so nervous in his presence, you realized that the two of you got along quite well and became excellent friends.

You’re currently listening to him ramble on about quidditch and how the new play they’re trying to perfect just doesn’t seem to be doing well when suddenly your name is being called down the hallway. Cedric pauses, looking over his shoulder as you turn around.

It doesn’t take long to figure out who called your name; down the hallway, taller than most others surrounding them, were the Weasley twins. One of them, the offender, had his arm raised and you knew it was George. Looking at Cedric who had his eyebrow raised (you had accidentally spilled to him how George and you had been spending your practice time together), you gesture at him to keep walking.

“Don’t worry,” you say, giving a reassuring smile. “I’ll meet you at your usual table.”

“Alright,” he says, giving you a teasing smirk. “Just don’t flirt for too long. See you.” He winks at your red face and glare, but gives no time for you to respond. As soon as he walks away, the twins come up to you anyway. Sighing at Cedric’s retreating form, you look at the twins and give a smile, but they’re not paying attention to you.

George, who you wouldn’t have differentiated if not for his earlier raised hand, is looking down the hallway at Cedric with a frown on his face. Fred, on the other hand, is eyeing his brother with an amused smirk. He, with a roll of his eyes, is the first to look back at you. 

“Yardley, right?” He says, reaching out a hand. Nodding, you take it and give it a brief shake. When you pull back, however, he doesn’t let go, instead giving your hand a tug so you stumble closer. Before you can say anything, he leans in close to your ear and whispers, “George has told me all about you, you know.”

Finally, he leans back up and lets go of your hand, smiling innocently down at you as though nothing happened. Blushing furiously, you look up at him with wide eyes, unsure of what just happened. You snap out of whatever trance you seem to be in when George shoves his elbow into Fred’s side with a glare.

“Ok, ok, I was just joking Georgie! No need to get all protective.” George gives another fierce glare before looking toward you. Immediately he smiles and steps forward a bit.

“Ignore him, he’s an idiot.” Fred gives an offended gasp before resting his arm on George’s shoulder, leaning his weight on him.

“How rude, brother. We both know I’m the smarter one. And the handsome one, isn’t that right, Yardley?” You flush at the attention, but give an amused smile. Now George is the one who gives an offended gasp.

“I don’t know,” you say, and both of them swivel their heads toward you. “I haven’t spent all that much time with you, Fred, so I don’t know if you’re the smarter one.” Fred simply raises an eyebrow.

“But you agree on me being the handsome one?” You feel your face go hot at that. You were hoping they’d let that one go. You glance over at George who’s looking at you, seemingly expecting some sort of answer.

Still meeting his eyes, you say, “Well, I don’t know about that.” George goes a bit pink in the cheeks but gives you a pleased smile. 

“See, Fred?” he says, looking over at his brother. “She at least has decent taste.” Fred, who had been smiling mischievously the entire time, simply shrugs.

“Clearly not if it’s you she’s interested in.” Before you can say anything, George gives Fred a shove and they engage in some playful sibling wrestling for a moment. Laughing, you decide to cut in when George has Fred in an armlock.

“Hey, hey, ladies, you’re both beautiful. No need to get jealous.” George doesn’t release Fred, but they both laugh and you feel quite proud of yourself. You managed to make the Weasley twins laugh!

Fred shoves George off him with a smile. “Oh, trust me,” he says. “I know I’m good looking. Doesn’t matter anyway, though. Seems you’ve got pretty boy Cedric to keep you busy.” You roll your eyes at the implication. The two of you had been confused as a couple so many times that it no longer affects either of you. Usually you just laugh it off. When you see George’s face, however, and how it seems to fall before he catches himself with a grimace, you feel the need to deny it.

“Right, as if,” you say, looking at Fred. “Cedric may be pretty, but he’s much too… him for my taste.” At their confused looks, you continue, gesturing your hands around as you try to explain.

“I mean, he’s a great friend, but he’s too safe an option. Almost predictable, you know what I mean? I feel as though I’d end up in some respectably-decorated house with a picket fence and three kids if I were to be with him. I’d raise the kids and he’d have a steady job at the ministry and when he gets home we’d talk about police changes and how we really should clean the gutters this weekend. It would be nice and easy, but it would also be boring I think. Plus, I’m just not interested. The guy’s to sociable and popular for his own good, it’ll get to his head”

You’re lost in your thoughts as you try to explain your thought process, and when you look up at the twins’ faces you feel cold panic creep in. They’re staring at you with slightly bewildered and confused faces. Scared you might have scared them off or freaked them out, you struggled to find something else to say, something normal to ease the tension. 

Before you can get anything out, however, you’re startled by an eruption of laughter. Both Fred and George and bent over, howling with laughter. You panic a bit, reaching your hands out but unsure what to do.

I-I didn’t mean anything mean, of course not, I’m sure any girl would be lucky to have him, I just-” You’re cut off by George, who manages to right himself first and look down at you with the most amused expression you’ve seen on his face.

“No, no, I get it,” he says, waving a hand at you. “It’s just… the way you described it all, it was so specific, and your face while you said it…” He broke off into laughter again and you couldn’t help but give a confused smile. Fred speaks next.

“You’re one hell of a girl, aren’t you, Yardley?” You shrug and give a little laugh, still unsure how to respond.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re much better, George, with the way you describe the songs you want me to play.” George raises his eyebrows at you before giving a wide smile and shrugging one shoulder.

“Well,” Fred says, “clearly the two of you fit together perfectly, then.” You try to hide your heated face with a laugh, but the look on Fred’s face says you aren’t successful. George seems flushed as well, but he just looks at you and winks, making your stomach fill with butterflies.

You suddenly remember why you were talking about Cedric in the first place. Glancing down at your watch, you wince. He’s definitely going to complain about how long you took.

“Sorry, guys,” you say, looking up at them. “I’d love to stay, but I should head to the library now. Cedric’s waiting for me and I’ve kept him waiting long enough.” Fred’s face lights up at that and he turns to his brother, clapping him on the shoulder.

“You know, Georgie was just headed that way, weren’t you George? He can walk you.” The two seems to have some kind of silent twin conversation in which Fred winks and George’s eyes go wide, but after a moment Fred turns towards you, ignoring George.

“Well, Yardley, lovely meeting you. We should hang out with you more often, I think.” With a wave and a smile, he turns down the hallway and walks away. You and George watch him for a bit before turning towards each other again. He’s slightly red in the face, but you smile and gesture down your hallway. 

“Well, shall we go then, Georgie?” You giggle a bit at his surprised reaction to the nickname, but he quickly falls into step next to you as you walk.

“So,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re not interested in picket fences and ministry jobs?”

You laugh and shake your head. “No, I mean, I’m sure it would be a lovely life, but I’d prefer something a bit more unpredictable and exciting. I can’t imagine how bored I’d get living like that. It’s just not my thing.” You shrug, and continue. You don’t know why you’re so comfortable talking to George, but it feels right. “I’d love to have kids someday, don’t get me wrong. I just want to raise them in an interesting environment, I guess, one where they can learn that having fun isn’t a bad thing, even as an adult. So many people get kinda boring when they grow up, and I never want that to happen to me.”

You look over at George and he’s staring back at you with a weird smile on your face. You’re not sure what it is, but you smile back anyway.

“Yeah,” he says, voice light and airy, as though he’s thinking about something else. “That sounds perfect.” You laugh a bit.

“Well, I’m glad you approve. Turning a corner, you see the doors to the library and almost unconsciously slow your footsteps. You don’t want to stop talking to him; you don’t know why, but it’s almost addicting. Luckily, George has no problem matching your slower pace.

“Fred was right, you know.” George says this suddenly, and you look up at him, tilting your head in question. “About hanging out more. You should come eat dinner with us tonight, I’m sure everyone would love to meet you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “At the Gryffindor table? With the Gryffindors?” He gives you an award winning smile.

“Yeah, of course. I’m sure old Dumbledore would love to see some good ole inter-house camaraderie.” With a laugh, you find yourself nodding your head. As soon as he asked, you knew you’d say yes. There was no doubt about it.

“Yeah, sure,” you say. “I’ll be there.” With one last smile and wave, you walk into the library, leaving George in the hallway. If you hear a quiet, ‘well done, George,’ then you ignore it with a smile.

That night you eat dinner at the Gryffindor table. Your friends forgive your absence in exchange for a full interrogation afterwards. You agree, and have one of the best dinners at Hogwarts yet. You’re sat between George and his brother’s friend Hermione, who you get along with splendidly. 

It really is a lovely meal, and if it has anything to do with George’s thigh pressed against your own, well, that’s nobody’s business but your own. 

**********

George and you develop a pattern over the next few weeks. On weekends when Hufflepuff has a quidditch match, he walks to the Hufflepuff common room when it’s over and the two of you walk to your practice room. It takes some convincing on his end, but you finally agree that when Gryffindor has a match, you watch in the stands and meet up afterwards, eating lunch at the Gryffindor table and then heading to the practice room.

Eventually, you go through your entire memorized repertoire for him and begin learning new pieces. As much as you say it’s boring and that he doesn’t have to be there for it, he insists that he enjoys watching you learn and stays anyway. At the end, he’s able to request memorized songs he wants to hear again.

You spend time together outside of the weekends as well. You only share one class with the twins, as Hufflepuff and Gryffindor share divination, and he’s all the way in the back with Fred while you’re near the front with Cedric and your other friends. Luckily the two of you share a free period, and so you’ll often be found in the library or outside by the black lake studying or joking around together. Usually Fred comes as well, as the two of them seem inseparable, but occasionally he decides to hand back and you get quality time with George. Secretly, those are your favorite days, but you’ll never tell Fred that.

The times you see George (and Fred, of course) quickly become your favorite parts of your day. Whether it’s the three of you messing around during your free period or just a quick wave and ‘hello’ in the hallway, you always leave in a better mood than you were in before. On the odd weeks you see very little of them, they commandeer you from your friends and sit you down at the Gryffindor table for dinner, all the while complaining that they’ve barely seen you. You complain back about how they stole you from your friends, but they both know you’re actually quite happy to be with them. Of course, you are.

It starts getting colder outside as it nears winter, and you find yourself layering on the long sleeves and the jumpers. You’re currently changing out of your uniform at the end of classes on a Tuesday, digging through your trunk for a clean jumper. Finding one, you pull it out and immediately blush at the sight. You clutch it to your chest before any of your friends can see (your dormmate Irene tends to be particularly nosy). Glancing around, you check that no one is paying attention before pulling it away from your chest and looking down.

It’s a green, hand-knit jumper with a large G on the front. George had lent it to you one day when you had forgotten to bring warmer clothes. He had been wearing it himself at the time, but once he had seen you shivering he took it off and handed it over without a word. You barely got to protest before he shook his head.

“Just put it on, Yardley,” He had said, “You look like you’re gonna freeze to death.” Smiling gratefully, you pulled it on and rolled the sleeves up a bit. It was quite large on you, but you thought it looked nice paired with your jeans. When you had looked up at him, he was staring down at you, face completely red. You cleared your throat and he glanced away with his arms crossed, asking for another song.

You smile now, thinking back to that day. You had meant to return it, and even tried to once he walked you back to your common room - a habit he picked up that you thought was very endearing. He had refused, saying you might still be cold when he left.

Since then, you haven’t gotten around to returning it yet. Smiling, you shrug before slipping it on. Might as well wear it. It’s not like I’ll be seeing him today anyway. I promised to sit with Irene and Poppy tonight for dinner.

Pleased, you grab a book and head down to the common room, wanting to get some reading in before dinner. You manage to snag a good chair by the fireplace and cozy up, feeling warm and content. Subtly, or as subtle as you manage, you bring the collar of George’s jumper up to your nose and take a deep breath. It still smells like him, a scent that immediately became your favorite. Good thing you’ve already brewed amortentia that year; who knows what you would have said or done otherwise.

Opening your book, you manage to get about ten minutes of reading done before you feel a tap on your shoulder. Looking up, you see a second standing next to your chair.

“I was asked to come get you,” she says. When you raise an eyebrow, she shrugs. “I don’t know, it was the tall guy with red hair, one of those twins who are always messing around.” Seeing the surprise and confusion on your face, she leans down to whisper.

“If you want him gone, I’m a black belt in karate. My mom made me go, said it’s important for a girl to know how to defend herself, and I got really good.” Her eyes are wide as she says, “If you want him gone, just let me know. It’s easy with boys because they have such an open weak spot.”

You look down at this girl, blonde hair in two french braids, uniform adorably too big for her. You smother a laugh and shake your head.

“No, it’s ok, he’s a friend. Thank you for the offer though, I’ll keep that in mind.” She nods and walks over to a group of other second years. Standing, you place your book on a side table before heading over to the portrait, wondering what George could want.

When you step into the hallway, though, it isn’t George. You’re surprised to see Fred standing there, waiting patiently. 

“Oh, um, hi Fred. I wasn’t expecting you.” He raises an eyebrow and smirks down at your attire.

“Clearly,” he says. “I can’t help but think you were hoping for someone else.” Glancing down, you flush a hot red when you realize you’re wearing George’s jumper. Looking back at Fred, face hot and embarrassed, you open your mouth and then close it. You have no idea what you’d even say.

Before you have to say anything, he laughs. “It’s ok, Yardley, I’m only teasing. I’m sure George wishes he were here; he’ll be jealous when I tell him I got to see you in his clothes and he didn’t.” You furrow your brows, confused, but smile back anyway.

“Speaking of, what are you doing here? Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but it’s certainly unexpected.” Smiling, he leans back against the wall, you only a few steps away from him.

“Ah, right! Well, I had a very important question to ask, one that George never seemed to get around to.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh? And what is it?” You ask. “Must be important if you came all this way instead of just asking me at dinner.”

“Very important,” he says with a wink. “We wanted to know what you’re doing over break. It’s coming up soon in just two weeks, and we wanted to know if you had any big, exciting plans.” You smile. The twins joke around a lot, but they’re still some of the sweetest people you know.

You shrug and cross your arms, trying to act nonchalant. They’re sweet and very considerate, which is why you don’t want them to worry about you. They shouldn’t anyway, but knowing them they’ll be worried and upset if you tell them the truth.

“Nothing much,” you say, avoiding Fred’s eyes. “Probably just spending time with family and friends back home. You know, the usual… Classic winter break!” You wince. That was an absolutely rubbish attempt at lying, and you know it. You also know that Fred knows it when he raises an eyebrow at you and gives you a dubious look.

“Oh really,” he says, sarcasm in his voice. “A classic winter break? And tell me, what exactly will you be doing with these family and friends? Are they going to pick you up at the train station?”

Frowning, you open your mouth, trying to think of something convincing to say.

“Well,” you start, but it turns out you don’t have to think of anything at all. Before you can continue, a shout comes from around the corner.

“Fred!” You jump a bit and look to Fred, worried. To your surprise, Fred’s eyes are wide and surprised.

“How did he-” you hear him mumble, but you’re quickly distracted by the figure running around the corner. There, with messy hair and rumpled clothes, is George running full speed. Your mouth opens a bit as he races towards Fred, but can’t do anything else before he jumps on his brother, gripping his hand over Fred’s mouth.

“You bastard, Fred! What the bloody hell were you thinking?” Fred is struggling to stay upright with George’s weight suddenly on him, but he manages to place a hand on the wall and steady himself. Wrestling for a moment, Fred finally manages to pull George’s hand off his mouth and yell back.

“I was only trying to help, George! Merlin knows you weren’t doing anything, so I figure it was about time I interfered.” This only leads to more wrestling and shouting as you stand there, completely unsure of what to do.

“Uh… guys?” They slowly come to a stop, both of them looking over at you. “What’s going on?”

Taking advantage of his distraction, Fred shoves George off of him, straightening his clothes out. George takes a moment to catch his breath before glaring at Fred.

“Yeah, Fred, what’s going on here?” Fred just gives a wide grin and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. George’s frown deepens.

“Well, before you came charging at me like a Neaderthal, Yardley and I were having a nice chat about winter break, weren’t we?” Looking between the brothers, you nod, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. 

Narrowing your eyes at Fred, you ask, “Fred, what did you do to George?” Fred gasps at you and removes his arm from your shoulder, stepping back.

“Betrayal,” he says. “What makes you think I did anything wrong?” You roll your eyes and fix your stare on him. Finally, he sighs.

“OK, fine, maybe I locked him in a broom cupboard with Filch’s cat. But it was for his own good! He wouldn’t ask you, and he wouldn’t let me-” Once more George’s hand is slapped over Fred’s to keep him silent.

Shoving his hand off, Fred lok back to you. “Anyway, back to our conversation. You were just lying to me about winter break, weren’t you?’ You blush and look away, huffing.

“I wasn’t lying,” you say. 

“Oh, but you definitely were. But oh well, it’s fine. I’ll leave it alone.” Suspicious, you look at Fred. He never just decides to leave things alone. Perhaps it was the upcoming holiday season that was making him act more gracious than usual.

Digging into his pocket for a moment, Fred pulls out a little box and hands it over to you. “This is the real reason I came over,” he says. “Wanted to give you a little something from the both of us.” Taking it from him, you open the lid to find a small pile of chocolates. Grinning, you quickly pick one up and pop it in your mouth, enjoying the taste.

It’s only when you’re done chewing and see Fred’s classic trouble-making grin that you pause to think. Fred is in front of your common room giving you chocolates before dinner, its two weeks before break, when he could have given them to you anytime… Dammit. You should have known better.

“Fred Weasley what is in these chocolates?” You demand, but he only shrugs. 

“Doesn’t matter now, you already ate one. This was easier than I thought it’d be.” Glaring at him, you look over to George to see if he’ll say anything. He’s been weirdly quiet this whole time.

Your glare quickly melts into confusion, however, when you see George staring at you, more accurately your torso, completely red in the face. Glancing down, you once more realize that you’re wearing his jumper and turn the same shade of red that he currently is. Fred bursts out in laughter at this, and you smile awkwardly at George.

“You hadn’t asked for it back yet, and I didn’t have any other clean jumpers, and it’s really nice and warm so I put it on, and I promise I’ll give it back, really, I just-”

“Keep it,” he croaks out. You look at him, surprised.

“What?” You ask. He finally makes eye contact.

“Keep it. I’ve got plenty from my mum and it looks… it looks good on you.” He lets out a little cough and he looks away and you smile. They really are sweet boys. You’re reminded of Fred’s presence when he slaps his hand on George’s shoulder. Well, one of them is a sweet boy.

“So, now that that’s over with, I’ll ask again. What are you doing for break, Yardley?” George looks up too, curious, and you sigh. At least now you’ve had some time to think of a lie. When you open your mouth to speak, though, it’s not the lies that come out.

“Nothing special. I’m going home to my father and will probably spend the whole time practicing and waiting for school to start again.” Your eyes go wide. That’s definitely not what you had planned on saying. Both of the twins frown at your admission.

“Just your dad? What about other family? And don’t you celebrate Christmas?” You frown, but the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

“Just my dad. My mum died a few years ago. That’s why I stopped playing piano for a bit. We don’t have any other family. My dad is from America and my mum is from Israel, so they both left their families. I don’t think either of them really had any.” You wince and you beg yourself to stop, but you keep going. Once you start talking about your problems, you can’t stop. This is why you never talk about them at all.

“My mom was Jewish, so we never celebrated Christmas, only Hanukkah. My dad never minded, and neither did I. Since she died, though, my dad stopped celebrating anything because it made him too sad. So now we sit at home and pretend things are ok. He’ll probably drink himself sick for a few days before going on another road trip somewhere. That’s what usually happens. He thinks it’ll fix him, but it never does.”

When you finally manage to take a breath and pause, you’re scared to look up at the twins, afraid of what you’ll see. When you finally manage it, your fears are confirmed. They look sad and concerned and are looking at you like they pity you. You can’t blame them, though. You pity yourself, too. Unable to deal with their expressions, you look down at your feet.

“It’ll be sad and lonely, but I’ll be ok. I always am. Being alone isn’t so bad once you get used to it.” You look back up and, without looking at either of their faces, you give a wide, cracked smile.

“Anyway, I forgive you for the veritaserum. Don’t feel bad, really. I’m not mad. And you know I’m telling the truth because I couldn’t lie if I wanted to.” You turn around, walking back over to the portrait. You don’t bother looking over your shoulder as you speak again.

“Anyway, I should get back. I’ll see you guys later.” You hear George call your name, his voice quiet and hesitant, but you ignore and enter the common room, closing the portrait behind you. 

You don’t make it to dinner that night.

**********

You feel guilty. All week you’ve ignored Fred and George, avoiding them like the plague. You take the long routes to class, you eat short meals, and you hide out in your common room whenever possible. They’ve tried their best to talk to you, and you have to give them some credit for their attempts. The twins are clever, but have yet to be successful. 

Now it’s Saturday and you’re sitting in your practice room. Gryffindor had a match today, and you feel terrible that you didn’t go. You promised George you’d go to every one, but you’re scared. You’re embarrassed and dread seeing the pitying look in their eyes again. Emotional intimacy isn’t something that comes easily to you, and now that it’s all been put out there so suddenly, it feels overwhelming. 

You’ve been sitting in your practice room for hours. You went to breakfast late, after you were sure the quidditch players were gone, and have sat in front of the piano since. You haven’t touched the keys yet. You haven’t even opened the lid. Instead you sit and you stare and you try not to think, because if you think, then you’ll think about George and then you’ll start to feel scared again.

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. Odds are you’ll see him today; soon, too, unless he decides not to come.

The question of whether he’s coming or not is answered when you hear his tell-tale footsteps out in the stone hallway. Immediately you panic, despite having plenty of time to prepare yourself, and quickly lift the cover off the piano. Placing your hands above the keys, you start to play the first song you can think of. It’s a beautiful song about love and desire and doesn’t require full attention, so you notice right away when the door creaks open and George walks in. Not saying anything, you see him out of the corner of your eye sit down on his usual desk. 

For a few measures only your left hand moves until there’s a slight pause… and in comes your right hand with a melody. As it builds, you try to focus on your pedal work. It’s always been iffy for this song, and it’ll provide a decent distraction from your audience. The melody builds and falls, then slowly builds again until, finally, the tension releases and the song comes to a slow end.You sit there, letting the notes ring out. When it fades to a volume you can’t hear, still you keep your foot on the pedal.

Taking a deep, you finally release it, and that’s when George speaks. “That one was beautiful. I don’t think I’ve heard it before.” You smile, but still don’t look at him.

“It actually reminds me of you a bit. I think that’s why I haven’t played it for you before.” Your voice is quiet, but he still hears every word. He doesn’t ask why.

“What’s it called.” You laugh a little. You’re certainly not telling him that.

“Say it, George. I know you have something else to say, so go ahead and just say it.” You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, still focusing on the keys. You tuck your hands under your thighs and wait.

He sighs and pauses. When you’re about to ask again, he speaks. “Come to the burrow for Christmas, Yardley. Please.” You tense up and stop breathing for a moment. Suddenly, you stand and snap your head over to him, hurt on your face.

“George Weasley, don’t you dare turn me into a charity case. I can handle your pity and I can handle your judgement, but I will not accept-” He interrupts you, standing from his desk.

“You’re not a charity case, Yardley. I wouldn’t do that to you, never to you. That’s not why we want you to come.”

“We?” You ask? Surely he means Fred.

“Yes, we. Me and Fred and Ron and Ginny, even Mum wants you there.”

“You’re mum?” You ask, bewildered. “You wrote your mum about me?” He blushes, but refuses to look away. Instead, he walks closer.

“Yes, I did. So did Fred, by the way. We didn’t say anything about your situation. She already knew about you, so we just asked if you could come for Christmas. She said yes, said she’d be more than happy if you came. So please come.”

Even when you’re standing, he’s much taller than you are. You can reach out and touch him from where you’re standing. You take a deep breath.

“She already knew about me, huh, Weasley? Didn’t know I was special enough to write home about.” You try to tease him, but it comes out dry. He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he takes another step closer. He’s so close.

“Of course you are,” he says, and it takes you by surprise. Eyes wide, you look up at him and his earnest face. You find it hard to breath.

“George… Tell me honestly, why do you want me there?” His stare becomes intense and he takes his last step towards you. The tips of your shoes are touching and he can’t walk any farther. Reaching up, his hand tucks another strand of hair behind your ear and stays there, resting below your ear, thumb on your cheek. Dipping his head down, not once breaking eye contact, he rests his forehead on yours.

“Because…” he whispers. “I want you there because I want…” He takes in a shaky breath and closes his eyes. You look at him for another breath before closing your eyes as well. 

You stay there like that, your head tilted up and touching his, for a few quiet moments before you think fuck it and whisper back, “ok.”

You open your eyes to see him focused on you, a lopsided smile on his face. He pulls back a bit, hand still resting on your cheek.

“Reall?” He says. “You’ll come?” You smile and nod, letting out a started laugh as he yanks you in for a hug. You hug back and when he whispers a quiet ‘thank you,’ you squeeze just a little tighter. Finally, he releases you and steps back, heading for his desk. 

“Now then,” he says, hopping back up. “Do you know how to play any Christmas songs?”

**********

You couldn’t be more excited to go to the burrow for the holidays. You don’t go home with the Weasley’s right away. Instead, you decide to spend a few days with you dad before taking off. As expected, you find him in his recliner watching sitcom reruns, surrounded by empty bottles. Sighing, you put your stuff up in your room before heading back down and starting to clean. It smells like a sweaty, dingy bar in the house and it’s dark enough that you’d need a flashlight to get around if not for the TV screen. 

Your dad lets out a loud snore. At least you don’t have to announce your arrival yet. You turn the TV off and open the curtain and windows, letting in some light and some air. After gathering all the bottles and sticking all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, you head over to the closet for the vacuum. It was times like these when you wish you could use underage magic.

Deciding to give your father a rude awakening, you provide no warning before turning the vacuum on, smiling at the satisfying sound of crumbs being sucked up. You laugh as you see your dad jerk awake and the cringe from the headache you’re sure he’s sporting. Serves him right, you suppose. Merlin knows you’ve had plenty of talks with him about his drinking, so you feel no pity for the man. 

Continuing to vacuum, you watch your father stumble to the kitchen for some water and paracetamol. He’s still in there when you finish vacuuming, and so once you’ve stored the vacuum back in the closet you walk in, finding him sitting at the table with a sandwich and a beer.

You frown. “Dad,” you say, but you don’t get to finish.

“Sweetheart, please. I know what you’re going to say, but please, not right now.” You stand there staring at him until finally you sigh, walking out of the kitchen and heading back upstairs. 

This is how it is with your father now. Your relationship is complicated. You used to really love him with his funny American accent and constant jokes and affection. He was a good dad, a great one, even. Ever since mom died, though, he’s been a mess and hasn’t bothered pulling himself together. You’ve done as much as you can, driving him to AA meetings and constantly supporting him when you can. Eventually, though, it became too much when he still refused to help himself. Eventually, you gave up.

You don’t hate your father. He’s not a bad man, just a broken one and you can’t blame him for that. Your mother was the love of his life. 

Sighing, you flop down on your bed. After a long train ride with Cedric and Irene loudly debating about which quidditch teams were better, you could really use a nap. Only a few more days and then you’d be off to the burrow. You manage to fall asleep with a smile.

**********

When you finally find yourself in front of the Weasley’s front door, you never expected to be this nervous. Of course you were, though. You’re about to stay with a family you only really know half the members of for several weeks. That’s intimidating as hell in your opinion.

Before you can even knock on the door, it's flung open and you see two twin faces grinning down at you.

“Yardley!” Fred is the first to hug you, gripping you tight and spinning you around once. You laugh as you hold on to him for dear life before he sets you down.

“Nice to see you too, Fred.” George is next, leaning down to hug you around the waist and quickly lifting you up in his arms. Clearly the Weasley twins have a thing for aerial hugs. 

Squeezing you tight, he cradles you back and forth before whispering in your ear, “I’ve missed you.” You smile and move your arms from where they’re squished between the two of you, instead wrapping them around his neck.

“I missed you, too,” you whisper back. Setting you down but not letting go, he grins down at you and you smile back up. You break away when Fred groans and wraps an arm over both of you's shoulders. 

“C’mon now, lover boy, no need to claim your territory. It’s only been a few days since you’ve last seen her.” Bright red, George turns to his brother and starts chasing after him, the two of them running through the house and up a set of stairs. Smiling, you walk in and close the door behind you. 

Ginny was quick to greet you as well, walking up and giving you a quick hug, welcoming you to the burrow.

“Harry and Hermione are already here,” she says. “They’re up in Ron’s room if you want to say hi”

You smile down at her. “I will, thanks. Though I’d love to thank your parents for letting me stay, first.” Grabbing your hand, Ginny tugs you along to the kitchen area to where a woman is busting around the kitchen with a man sitting at the table reading the Daily Prophet. 

Assuming this is Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, you step forward and clear your throat, getting their attention.

“Hello,” you say, and that’s all you have time to say before Mrs. Weasley comes straight for you, wrapping you up in the biggest hug you’ve ever received. Laughing, you hug back. Mr. Weasley has simply stepped forward, sticking his hand out. You shake it as they speak.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Weasley starts. “I’ve heard so much about you from my boys! You seem like such a lovely girl, I’m so glad you can stay with us.” You smile, taken aback by this enthusiastic woman.

“Oh, no, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I’m very grateful you’re allowing me to stay here, I really appreciate it. I don’t know how much the twins have told you about back home for me, but really, this is incredible. Much more lively than I’m used to.” She smiles back at you and presses her hands to either of your cheeks before turning around, returning to the stove. 

“Oh, nonsense, dear. It’s no trouble having you here, no trouble at all. Please, call me Molly.” Mr Weasley picks up his newspaper again, but turns to you.

“Yes, no trouble one bit. The boys have written countless letters with you in them, especially George. Say, what’s that around your wrist?” You glance down at your watch.

“Um, it’s a wrist watch sir. My mother gave it to me.” He gestures for you to walk closer and you do, reaching your arm out for him to see.

“Fascinating,” he says. “A clock you wear around your wrist - brilliant! You didn’t happen to be raised by muggles, were you?” You smile down at the kind man. Fred and George had told you what he was like.

“Yes, sir, I was. My father was a muggle and my mother was muggle-born, but a witch herself.” His entire face lights up, but he waves a hand at you.

“Please, call me Arthur. How wonderful. Do you mind if I ask you some questions? I’d love to get a better look at that wrist watch of yours as well.” Molly sighs from her spot by the stove, stirring something in a pot.

“Arthur, dear, I’m sure she doesn’t want to be bombarded with your questions right now. Why don’t you find the boys, dear, have them take your stuff up to where you’ll be staying. Dinner will be ready shortly. Boys!” 

You flinch a little as she calls out for them for you, but smile down at Arthur. Undoing the clasp on the back, you slip your watch off and hand it to him. His excitement is infectious, and you can’t help but grin back as he takes it from you. Quickly glancing at Molly and then back, you give him a wink and put your finger to your lips. He leans back in his chair, laughing and getting a closer look at the watch.

The twins come rushing down the stairs and walk into the kitchen, George putting his arm around your shoulder as Fred stands on your other side. Arthur looks up at them.

“Oh, I like this one, boys. Make sure you treat her well!” You laugh and lean into George’s side as Molly comes over.

“Fred, George, take her trunk upstairs, will you? And show her where she’ll be staying.”

“Alright, come on now,” Fred says, tugging your arm along. George’s arm slips off your shoulder, but he follows behind you and Fred. Grabbing your trunk, they carry it up the stairs as you follow behind.

“Ginny offered to let you stay in her room with her,” Fred starts.

“But Hermione’s here too, so it’s already full.” George continues.

“So Mum put you in Charlie’s old room.”

“He’s too busy off in Romania with his dragons, so he won’t be here for Christmas.”

By now, the three of you have reached another landing and they open a door, leading you in. “So you get the room all to yourself! Unless of course someone decides to keep you company.”

Fred gives George and not-so-subtle wink, and you laugh and George tries to tackle Fred. You move your trunk over near the bed as they scuffle and look around. It’s a small room, but it’s lovely. It feels much homier than your other room, and you’ve only just entered. Still, the burrow is already becoming one of your favorite places. It’s so lively and full of love, not at all like back home with your dad. There’s noise and laughter everywhere and you can already tell you’ll never be bored.

The twins have stopped fighting by now and George walks over to the bed, flopping down on it. He frowns. 

“Bill’s bed is way comfier than ours, Fred.” You laugh and watch as Fred jumps onto it next to him, sending George flying up a few inches.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “Much comfier. You wouldn't mind sharing with me, would you Yardley?” He gives you a wink and you roll your eyes, laughing as you sit on the edge of the bed, facing him.

George is about to protest, but you beat him too. “Only if you don’t care about personal space, Freddie. I tend to be a cuddler.” You give him a playful wink and he laughs, throwing his head back into the pillow.

George, frowning, looks down at Fred. “Quite the charmer, you are.” He looks up at you. “Why does he get to share the bed?”

Fred props himself up, wiggling his eyebrows at George. “Don’t worry, Georgie, nothing untoward will happen. Though I’m sure if you shared the bed, there could be no guarantees.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He responds, eyebrows raised. Before he can say anything more, you stand and step up onto the bed, sitting down between their feet, back pressing against the footboard. You own legs extend down the bed toward them, but aren’t nearly long enough to get anywhere past their waists.

“Oh, please,” you say, looking between them. “Don’t be jealous, Fred, just because George gets the special treatment.” George's eyes widen at you and he blushes a little while Fred just grins. Before they can say anything else, Molly’s voice calls up the stairs.

“Fred, George, dinner will be ready in 10 minutes! Go and wash up.” Fred grins and hops off the bed, walking towards the door.

“I’ll use the bathroom first, then, Georgie,” he says, closing the door behind him with a wink. Chuckling, you look back over at George who has his hands resting behind his head as he lies down on the bed. He grins at you.

“He’s a nosy bugger, isn’t he? He has no decency, none whatsoever.” Laughing, you pull your legs back, moving so you can crawl up the bed, lying on your stomach. You lie so your feet touch the bottom of the bed and stretch out your full length, but still George’s head is much further along than yours. Your head is resting on your crossed arms as you frown.

“You two are so tall, it isn’t fair. I’m too short. If you could give me just a few of your inches then I’d be satisfied, I think.” George’s reaction is not at all what you thought it would be. His eyes widen as his cheeks burn red and he starts to choke on nothing. He sits up, crossing his legs as he coughs and you look up, concerned.

“You ok?” You ask.

“Just fine,” he wheezes back. Looking down at you with a quizzical expression, he says, “You have no idea what you just said, do you?” Tilting your head, you look up to him, brows furrowed.

“I said what I said. That if you could transfer a few inches of your height to me, then I’d be taller and happier.” Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair and chuckles a bit.

“Yeah, of course you did.” He looks down at you with an adoring expression again and you smile, enjoying the quiet moment. Settling your head back down on your arms, you sigh.

“We should probably get ready for dinner.” George leans back on his arms and sighs with you.

“Yeah, we probably should.” Instead of moving, though, the two of you remain on the bed, looking at one another. It’s comfortable at first, but soon a tension starts building and you’re not sure what to do about it. George licks his lips and opens his mouth.

“Hey- “ Before he says anything else, the door opens and in walks Fred.

“Your turn, George.” He gives you a tense smile before getting off the bed and walking out to the bathroom. You guess the two of you can talk later.

**********

Dinner is lovely with the Weasleys, and after you all sit around the fire in the living room. You’re currently sitting on one of the armchairs, Ginny in front of you as you play with her hair. Everyone, even Percy, was laughing at a story Arthur was telling from work, the twins occasionally chiming in with their witty banter.

Taking a moment, you distance yourself from the conversation. Looking around the room almost makes you want to cry. You’ve always had a small family. It was just you, your dad, and your mum. Since she passed, the house has felt so lonely and desolate. At some point, it stopped being a home. Here in the burrow, though, there was no doubt that it was a home well loved. There was so much warmth and joy, feelings you’ve been missing for too long. 

Blinking in an attempt to get rid of the tears, you see Harry looking at you from the chair across from you. You haven’t said anything to him about how you’re feeling, and you doubt he knows about your situation at home. But still, somehow you feel as though he understands. He’s been looking around the burrow the same way you’ve been - as though he’s finally somewhere he can belong and love and be loved, whether there’s anyone in the room with him or not. 

You give him a watery smile. You know he’s never had it easy, and while you’re not close with him, you’re glad he has a place like the burrow that he can go to. Wiping your eyes a bit, you call out to him.

“What, Harry, do you want your hair done? It’s shaggy enough that I’m sure I could get some braids in.” He laughs and stands, walking over to you. Ginny rises and gives him her seat, moving over to sit next to Hermione instead. When he takes a seat in front of me, George and Fred are calling out, giving Harry whistles and asking to make sure you have him looking pretty. You laugh and ignore them. Instead, you squeeze Harry’s shoulder for a moment. His hand immediately raises and covers your own. You may not be close, but you both know how it feels, and that’s enough.

The rest of the night goes along incredibly until George decides to open his big mouth about you playing the piano. You blush as soon as he says it and reach out to whack him where he sits on the couch, on the edge nearest to your chair. He dodges and laughs, insisting that you're the best he’s ever heard.

You vehemently deny it, saying that you’re really not that good, but Molly will have none of it. Ginny and Hermione are eager to hear you as well, and in the short time you’ve spent with the girl, you can’t help but give the youngest Weasley what she wants. She’s already claimed a soft spot in your heart.

Sighing, you point out that they don’t even have a piano.

“Yeah, but you spent a whole year learning how to transfigure a good one. Surely you can do it again.” You glare at him, but he just gives you a wink back.

“Oh, yes!” Arthur says. “I’d love to take a good look at a piano. Fascinating instruments, they are.” Giving an exasperated sigh, you whack the back of George’s head over to the table Arthur pulled over for you to transfigure. You go for a modest piano this time, nothing like the grand back in your practice room. Still, it transfigures into a lovely wooden piano and this time it’s perfectly tuned. You’ve improved.

Pulling over a small bench, you sit in front of it, blushing immensely at the whoops and hollers the family is giving you. You’re suddenly very nervous, but you look over at George and see nothing but his encouraging smile. You smile back and look down at the keys, trying to decide what to play. It’s been a while, you realize, since you’ve decided without George’s input. Looking back over at him, you raise an eyebrow and he pauses to think.

“Play that snow song, I like that one.” You smile.

“Winter Melody?” He snaps his fingers.

“Yes, that one!” You nod, listening as Fred whispers to Ron, ‘How’d she understand that one?’

Taking a deep breath, you wiggle your fingers a bit before stilling them, finally hitting the keys in the fast intro. Your right hand travels up the keys and the left travels down before meeting back in the middle and repeating the same process, different notes. The melody builds slightly, and you smile, having fun with the piece. You begin to move your body along with your hands, swaying a bit left and then right. Soon enough, the rest of the room is blocked out.

When it comes to an end, your right hand shifts from sixteenth notes to eight and eventually to whole notes, but the left hand never slows, not until the very last chord that rings out. You hear a single clap and then George’s voice, quiet but harsh.

“Quiet, Ron, you can’t clap until she’s done.”

“I thought she was,” Ron whispers back.

“No, not until she stops stomping the lever bit at the bottom, see?” With that, you lift your foot off the pedal and grin over at Ron and George. Clapping fills the room, and you’re quickly brought back to reality. You flush at the applause and their insistence at another piece.

“Oh!” George calls out. “Do the one about the dead Russian princess.” You raise an eyebrow, laughing.

“Anastasia it is.” You turn back to the piano and begin. This one is more of a waltz, and so you up the volume a bit and try to relax a bit to keep tempo. Out of the corner of your eye you can see George and then Fred pushing the furniture out of the way, ignoring everyone’s protests. Grinning, George grabs Ginny’s hand Fred grabs his mum’s, pulling them into the now clear space. Then, they begin to dance along to your music and everyone’s laughter. 

Soon, they manage to pull everyone else into dancing, starting a small, chaotic kind of ballroom in their living room. Ginny is shoved towards Harry and they both blush as they dance together. The same happens with Ron and Hermione and you smile at their awkwardly pleased faces. Fred lets his mum go with Arthur, and then Fred and George start exaggerated dance moves of their own. Laughing as you play, you look over and watch for a moment, glancing between them and your fingers. It’s a scene you don’t think you’ll ever forget, everyone dancing with Percy laughing off to the side, taking pictures.

As the song comes to an end, you don’t let it slow down and instead quickly switch over to another waltz, this one more upbeat. Falling into a steady rhythm, you glance over at the twins again, watching them dance. It’s quite the sight, seeing George dipping Fred, bumping him into Ron behind him, making Hermione laugh. You smile. A part of you, quite a large part, actually, wishes it was you that George was dipping, but the other part was just happy that you got to experience this here with them. 

You continue playing for a bit longer, and soon everyone tires out. You keep messing around on the piano, playing softer songs as everyone starts to yawn and say goodnight. Molly, Arthur, and Percy are the first to head off to bed, and the rest of you sit around the piano and fire and talk and you lightly play. Ginny gets tired too, and Hermione decides to head up with her. Ron and Harry follow soon after, leaving you and the twins. For a few minutes, they’re lying down, Fred on the couch and George on the floor, just listening to your soft music.

Fred is the first to move. Yawning, he sits up. “I’m going to head up. Don’t be too loud on your way up, George.” With a nod and a quiet goodnight from you, he heads up the stairs, leaving just the two of you. You and George have spent plenty of time alone together, so you’re not sure why you feel nervous now. It’s only made worse when George also stands and walks over to you, nudging your shoulder slightly as he takes a seat next to you.

You don’t look up, but you smile as you continue to play soft chords. He calls your name, and you pause, looking up at him. He has a gentle smile and though the fire is dying, his eyes still reflect the flames, making his brown eyes look golden. You get distracted looking at his eyes for a moment, and a soft smile creeps onto his face.

“Staring isn’t polite, you know.” He says. His voice isn’t quite a whisper, but it’s quiet. You keep his volume in your reply.

“What can I say? You’ve got pretty eyes.” You smile back at him before looking down at the piano and sighing.

“I should probably turn this back into a table, shouldn’t I?” Closing the cover, you reach for your wand, but his hand on your arm stops you. You look up at him.

“Nah,” he says. “I haven’t seen my family like that in ages. Keep it this way. I have a feeling you’ll be using it quite a bit, anyway.” He gives you a wink and you smile, standing.

“Alright then,” you say as you slide your arm through his hand, stopping when you can wrap your fingers around his. You tug him slightly, motioning towards the couch. He doesn’t make any jokes now, simply stands and follows you. You sit first, placing yourself in the exact middle, giving him the options of space or no. You’re pleased when you find that he sits close to you, his thigh pressing against yours with plenty of space on the other side of him. Releasing a small, happy sigh, you continue to hold onto his hand and stare into the dying fire. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so peaceful.

You feel George lift your hand and start playing with your fingers. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes, you see that his face is a bit red, though that could be from the fire. He looks nervous, and though you can’t imagine what he’s nervous about, seeing him like that makes your stomach do a flip as well.

Smiling a little, you lean against his side, resting your head against his shoulder. He immediately relaxes into your touch, slouching down a bit so you’re able to lean your head on top of his shoulder. You want to laugh. The boy’s too tall for his own good.

With your head resting against him, you can feel his heartbeat. It’s faster than you expected, and you smile wider.

“Your heart is racing,” you whisper. You don’t know why you feel the need to stay so quiet; surely everyone upstairs can’t hear you. Still, it feels right to only whisper. You feel his breath against your head as he responds.

“It is.” Turning your head a bit, you bury your face into his shoulder.

“Thank you,” you mumble out through his shirt. “For inviting me here. I haven’t been this happy in a long time.” You feel him squeeze your hand.

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s me who should be thanking you for coming. I really… I really wanted you here.” You smile, and you’re sure he can feel it against his shoulder. You’re nervous, but you’re sure he is too, and so you decide to make it a little easier.

Lifting your head, you look up at him, finding that he’s already looking back. His face is focused and his eyes flicker across your face, stopping when they reach your lips. Again, he whispers your name.

“Yes?” You whisper back, eyes focused on him. His gaze finds yours. He seems less nervous.

“Close your eyes for me.” You do so immediately and suddenly realize how much you trust this boy. You’d smile if it weren’t for the pounding of your heart and the butterflies taking over your stomach. 

Nothing happens for a few beats, and then you hear him shift on the couch, feel him leaning closer. Not being able to resist, you open your eyes to see him closer than ever before, looking down at your lips. You watch his eyes flutter closed and, finally, you feel the press of his lips against yours.

Smiling as you close your eyes again, you reach a hand up to his hair and pull him in, pressing back into him. George’s mouth is slow and wet, but so warm as he kisses you. You tilt your head slightly and he smiles. Opening his mouth, he begins to swallow your lips, deepening the kiss and urging you on. 

Following his lead, you open your mouth against his slightly, making a sound almost like a whimper when he flicks out his tongue. You can feel the smirk on his lips as he wraps his arm around your waist, tugging you closer before leaning down, pressing you back. Taking the hint, you let yourself fall back on the couch, not breaking contact with his mouth until he lifts himself up a bit, letting you adjust as you bring your legs up onto the couch. As he settles between them, he brings his mouth back down to yours, framing your head with his forearms. 

Your own hands explore him. One finds itself buried in his hair, tugging slightly on the strands at the nape of his neck, causing a small moan to escape him that you want to hear over and over again. Your other hand slides down his shoulder and chest, resting on his waist by the waist of his pants. Your fingers play with the hem of his yellow, short-sleeved button down, skimming over a bit of exposed skin.

As soon as your fingers touch his bear skin he growls a bit, biting your lower lip and pulling ever so slightly. Gasping, you open your eyes ever so slightly to see him doing the same, looking down at you.

“George,” you whisper, and that’s all it takes for him to come back down, molding his mouth against yours, his kisses hungry. You hum and let your fingers slip under his shirt, lightly grazing the skin there. You feel the muscles tense up and enjoy the feeling of running your hand along his smooth skin. Pushing his shirt up, you lay your palm flat against his stomach and stroke the fine hairs you feel there with your thumb.

Gasping, he pulls away slightly, breathing hard and resting his forehead against yours. You pull your head away, though, and press a kiss to his jaw, causing him to lift his head up, allowing for easier access. Smiling, you press kisses under his jaw and along his neck, pressing a wet one right at his pulse point.

“Shit,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. Smiling, you continue pressing kisses along his neck and under his ear, all while running your hand up and down along his side, occasionally taking the time to ghost your fingers along the hair near his belly button.

“Bloody hell, Yardley, you had this whole innocent look going for you.” Smiling, you lightly nibble his ear, causing him to quietly groan. “Fuck, I am never believing that again.” You huff a laugh into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

He says your name in something between a whimper and a groan, and you press another kiss to his lips. 

“I never thought I’d say this, but unless you want to start something you’re not ready to finish, I’m gonna need you to take your hand out from under my shirt.” You laugh and comply, removing your hand from his skin and placing it on his back instead. He relaxes a bit, but looks immensely disappointed which pleases you. He leans down, pressing some of his weight onto you as he tucks his nose into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath. You giggle at the feeling of his breath and turn your head, pressing a kiss against his cheek. You can feel his smile against your neck.

The two of you lie there for a moment, catching your breath. You can feel him start to fall asleep, and decide that you don’t want a man who’s heavier than you can lift falling asleep on top of you. Smirking, you decide to wake him up a bit.

Sliding your hand down his waist, you reach further down, sliding it on his bottom before you give it a squeeze. Yelping, he jumps up a bit, head shooting up from it’s spot in your neck. He stares down at you, eyes and mouth open in shock.

“You- You little- You’re a seductress, a vixen, that’s what you are.” You try to keep your laughter down, but his reaction makes it awfully hard.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “But you were falling asleep and as much as I love this, I’d prefer to spend the night in a bed, not on a couch.” He raises an eyebrow and gives you a mischievous grin at that.

“In a bed, eh? And what do you propose we do in this bed, hm?” Laughing a bit, you slap him on the chest.

“I meant my bed, alone, without you in it, thank you very much.” Frowning, he rolls off you, sitting on the edge of the couch next to your legs. Taking his hands, you allow him to pull you up, your face once more right next to his. 

The idea that you can kiss him and he can kiss you whenever you want is new and thrilling, and the excitement takes over as you lean in, capturing his mouth with yours. He lets up a surprised hum and kisses you back, pulling away only when you’re in danger of finding yourself pressed against the couch again.

Catching your breath, you look up at him, grinning. He grins back and presses a kiss to your cheek before standing, once more using his hand to pull you up. He walks over to the stairs, you right behind him with his hand in yours. You try your best to tip toe, sure that everyone else is asleep by now. You pass the landing where the twins’ room is, up one more to where Bill’s sits. Opening the door for you, you walk in and he trails behind. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“I hope you know you’re not staying the night in here.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Just wanted to say goodnight.” He gives you a goofy smile and you melt, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. He hugs you around the waste and squeezes a bit, rocking you side to side.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, pressing a quick kiss against his neck. He pulls away, pouting.

“No fair,” he says. You shrug and smile up at him.

“Don’t hate the player, George, hate the game.” he smirks before bending down, pressing kisses all over your cheek and temple. You giggle in his arms.

“Oh trust me,” he says, voice deep. “I love the game.” A shiver runs down your spine at the sound and you step back out of his arms. At this rate he won’t leave until the sun comes up.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say. “But the game is on pause for tonight. We need to sleep.” He frowns for a moment before sighing, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, we probably should. I’m gonna get so much shit from Fred, too,” he says with a grin. “Totally worth it though.” With a wink he walks back over to the door, turning around in the threshold. He looks somewhat nervous again and you internally squeal. He’s absolutely adorable.

“Uh, we’ll… we’ll talk in the morning, yeah?” He asks, looking up at you. You give a reassuring smile and nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “We’ll talk in the morning.” With one last smile, he closes the door behind him and you hear his footsteps down the stairs. You turn to change into your pajamas, as soon as you are you fall into bed and press your face into the pillow, squealing. You fall asleep with a smile on your face that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I used a bunch of piano songs in this one, here's a list of them all in order (I'll put a * if the song is unnamed in the writing). And yes, some of them were written post 1996 or whatever, but I decided I don't care and put them in anyway bc I love them and I think they fit.
> 
> "The Smile of a Child" by Paul Reeves  
> "Night Walk" by Gavin Luke  
> * "The Island" by Steve Jablonsky *  
> * "For the Damaged Coda" by Blonde Redhead arranged by Kitsu for Piano *  
> * "Un Sospiro" by Liszt *  
> Bach’s Prelude in C Major  
> "Fly" by Ludovico Einaudi  
> * "Love Me For All Your Days" by Tom Howe *  
> "Winter Melody" by Jacob's Piano  
> * "Once Upon A December" from Anastasia *


End file.
